


come down from your fences (open the gate)

by motorghost



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aliases, Alternate Universe - Western, Avatar: The Last Airbender AU, Bounty Hunters, Earth Nation, Enemies to Friends, First Meetings, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, McHanzo Week 2020, Ostrich Donkeys!!!, Sheriff McCree, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Sort Of, Very slight trace of angst, disguises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26395081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motorghost/pseuds/motorghost
Summary: Sheriff McCree takes an interest in the strange man who just rode into town.McHanzo Week 2020: Day 4 (Free AU)
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 23
Kudos: 124





	come down from your fences (open the gate)

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't a perfect blend of universes, seeing as how painfully American Jesse is, but this is fanfic, so. no rules just right outback steakhouse
> 
> song comes from Desperado by The Eagles because i'm a simpleton and to keep going this tradition of naming mchanzo week fics with song lyrics.

Jesse’s village is twenty miles west of Ba Sing Se. That’s too far to be worth the trip for anyone but refugees or major traders, especially in this year's scorching summer, so the arrival of a Northern Water Tribe stranger strikes him as very odd.

It strikes everyone as odd; people can’t stop talking about the handsome-yet-angry-looking man who showed up at the inn around dawn. Despite his fancy dress, he looked to the innkeeper like he’d ridden for days without rest and he scarfed up his dinner as fast as good manners would allow. That was two days ago; as far as Jesse's heard, the man hasn’t left the inn since.

Now people in this village enjoy their privacy and therefore respect the privacy of others, but Jesse isn’t originally from this village. And seeing as how he has a bounty on his head large enough to justify any number of ‘strange men’ dropping by, he’s more than willing to get nosy for this one.  _And,_ seeing as how he’s the acting sheriff while the real sheriff is commanding battalions at the border, he has all the authorization he needs to swagger into the inn after breakfast to see what's what.

“Morning, Mei." He leans an elbow on her desk, tipping his hat. "How’s business?”

“Good morning, Jesse!" Mei is writing away, as usual—her side-job as innkeeper never seems to get in the way of her passion for mineral research. "Most of the rooms are still empty, I’m afraid. I would’ve thought the melon festival would bring in tourists, but—”

“That Water Tribe guy still here?”

“Oh!” Mei goes stiffer than Jesse's ever seen. “Yes, he is.”

“That a fact?” Jesse smiles.

“Yes.”

“You seen him then?”

“Well. No.”

“No?”

“Well,” Mei looks away now, clearly uncomfortable. “He hasn’t come out.”

“Hasn't come out?”

“He hasn’t left his room since he arrived. Rein brings him meals, but—”

“Well, let’s go check on him then,” Jesse hums, already walking towards the hall. “What room’s he in?”

“Oh—Room 4! But… I have to watch the desk.”

“Stay put,” Jesse waves, “I won’t be long.”

Mei calls after him, “Please be careful this time,” but Jesse’s no longer listening to her. He listens at the door, tries to feel through the floorboards beneath his spurs what could be going on in Room 4. But there’s no sound but his own steps.

He knocks. No answer.

“Anybody home?” No answer still. He tries to slide open the door, but it's locked.

So Jesse uses his left arm: a prosthetic bent from sharp gray shale and black granite he took from the hills beyond the river. It’s a collection he re-assembles every morning into a rough approximation of a human arm, the materials differing on what he thinks the day might bring. This morning, knowing he’d be initiating an encounter with the stranger, he went extra on the hard granite. With a slight tug, he door cracks open easily.

“Well, I’ll be.”

The stranger is laying sideways over the bed: clearly at the black-out stage of what must’ve been a long and hard bender. Despite his disgruntled pose and comically terrible bedhead, the man’s drooling face is as pretty as Jesse has ever seen: high-cut cheekbones and a shapely goatee framing full, pursed lips. Long, obsidian-black hair and an intimidating frown, even when unconscious. The rest of him is bulky enough for Jesse to assume he’s a fighter, adding another layer of danger to accompany the attraction, bringing his already simmering adrenaline to a rolling boil.

Jesse approaches and gives the man a gentle shake on the shoulder. “Long night, partner?”

Then Jesse suddenly has a crushing grip at his throat.

His stone arm grabs the man’s arm automatically and squeezes with the intent to crush; there’s no longer any doubt that this man is an assassin sent for his head.

But the stranger gets his arm back by rushing towards Jesse’s force rather than away, twisting out of the sheriff’s grip and putting space between them fast. His teeth are bared in a snarl, wild with loose hair and an aggressive fighting pose.

Jesse calls up the earth from just outside the room’s little window and forms three sharps pointed at the stranger’s back. “You’re surrounded. Stand down.”

The man’s stance is strong, but his head sways like it’s being barraged by a massive headache. “Who are you?! How dare you break into my room!”

“I’m the sheriff of this town. Just checkin’ in.”

“Who asked you to do so? I have not disturbed anyone!”

Jesse’s eye twitches; the guy looks so rattled, looks so the picture of the proverbial cornered animal, that the ‘assassin’ explanation is starting to weaken. Unless he’s trying to get Jesse to lower his guard so that he’ll be an easier target later on. “Well, you’re a high-class Northern Water Tribe gentleman. Thought you might need some fresh cucumber slices.”

The stranger angrily juts his chin, letting some of his hair fall out of his face and letting Jesse finally see his eyes.

If they weren’t as bright yellow as they are—like twin marigolds bursting from colorless desert—Jesse might not have come to the conclusion he’s coming to now.

“You’re Fire Nation,” he breathes out.

The man stands his ground. “You are mistaken,” he mutters.

“Maybe so. But we’ll let a jury decide. Hands in the—”

But the man is quick. His foot hooks the leg of a chair and launches it at Jesse’s head before he can finish his sentence. Jesse’s arm comes up and wood smashes against it, splinters sinking into his shoulder and ribs. He tries to close off the window with a wave of risen earth, but the man is quicker still—gone by the time Jesse makes it outside. 

“Shit.” He fishes out a cigar automatically, hands shaking as startled onlookers start to congeal around the broken wall.

Mei’s voice calls out from behind, “Jesse! My insurance won’t keep covering this!”

Later that night, Jesse is outside the village’s wall, smoking his fifth cigar of the day by the ostrich donkey paddock. They know him well; usually they enjoy his carrots and his calm demeanor, and quickly congregated when he arrived, but once they ascertained that he had zero carrots and intended only to fill the air with smoke, they wandered off in favor of munching hay bales or watching the scorpion mice skitter from shadow to shadow.

When something else moves between shadows, they grunt suspiciously and Jesse turns his head. “Come on out and I’ll let you take one for free.”

The stranger emerges. He’s wearing the same clothes, plus the gleaming coat and hair ornament that made people peg him as Water Tribe. But his bow and quiver, though painted in Northern fashion, are Fire Nation shape upon closer inspection.

“You are brave to stand here alone and unguarded,” says the stranger, much calmer now that he isn’t hung over and/or fighting for his life.

“Who says I’m unguarded?” Jesse nods to the ostrich donkeys. “Touch a hair on my head and they’ll make you their dinner.”

The stranger scoffs so roughly that Jesse can’t help but think it might’ve hidden an unexpected chuckle. “What’s your game, sheriff?”

“No games. Take the one you want and leave.”

“Such kindness towards an enemy.”

“It ain’t kindness.” Jesse leans up off the fence and faces the man squarely, gesturing to the town with the hand that holds his cigar. “It’s my job to protect these people. We don’t got a standin’ army to defend us, and you’re obviously runnin’ from something.”

“As are you,” the stranger smirks, “Jesse McCree.”

Of course a Fire Nation defector would have seen Jesse's poster somewhere; the Fire Nation wants his head more than anyone. “Well. Nothin’ that says I can’t save my own hide at the same time. We all gotta look out for ourselves.” He narrows his eyes at the man. “Ain’t that right?”

The stranger turns away, off into the desert. Clouds are forming on the moonless horizon where saguaro cacti grow less and less visible; long bodies dissolving into the black. “You’re correct. I am running. But no one is chasing me.” He enters the paddock, closing the latch behind him. “No one living, anyway.”

Jesse chews that over while he watches the man slowly approach the herd of ostrich donkeys. He watches him hold out his hand and take gradual steps, hesitating when the animals snort and back away. Gradually, one of them doesn’t back away as much, then reaches its beaked nose forward to sniff at the stranger’s hand, long ears perked high. Jesse catches himself smiling at the way the man strokes the mare’s neck, smoothing down the place where her white head feathers shift into gray fur.

“Well,” he mutters, adjusting his hat as the stranger mounts up, “Hope you find what you’re lookin’ for.” Jesse unhooks the main gate and walks it open.

“And you,” returns the stranger, pausing beside Jesse. “You know you cannot linger for long in such a place. You will be found eventually. And then these people will truly be in danger.”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” Jesse mutters. “You, uhh…” He shifts his weight from one boot to the other, squinted eyes bouncing between the stranger's lofty yellow gaze. “You got a name, Fire Nation?”

The stranger hesitates, then smirks. Jesse sees those eyes light up like there’s real fire behind them. “Hanzo.”

Jesse doesn’t know he’s staring. “Well. You take care, Hanzo.”

Without looking away, the cowboy puts his cigar back in his mouth, tries to pull, then realizes it’s no longer lit. He takes it out with a curse, then quickly glances up when a bright orange light springs up out of nowhere: Hanzo leans from his mount towards Jesse, a small flame dancing above his gently-curled pointer finger. Jesse blinks, then leans forward and sucks until smoke pours into his mouth.

Then Hanzo leans back, the light gone but his smirk remaining. “Until we meet again, Jesse McCree.”

With a soft kick, the ostrich donkey takes off and Hanzo guides her down the road further east. Jesse doesn’t know where that road leads—nowhere special, that’s for sure—but it’s the same road he’ll have to take once his time here runs out, and that makes Hanzo’s last words carry a funny kind of likelihood.

Jesse watches him disappear beneath the coiling thunderheads with his hands on his hips and a wry grin tugging around his cigar.  “Well, I’ll be.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm truly sorry if the image of "scorpion mice" harmed anyone. i'm sure they could be cute in someone's imagination!!


End file.
